The Weavings of Mooselk
by Mooselk
Summary: Fic responses to various challenges.
1. 30 Days of Headcanon: Day 17

Glorfindel, lord of the house of the Golden Flower, stared incredulously at the Lord of Mandos.

"They think what?" he finally choked out. "That me and…? What on Arda gave them that idea?"

"I do not know," Namo replied, "But I felt that you should be warned before any of them come here. They are going to be very surprised."

Glorfindel shuddered. "And my namesake did not discourage this idea?"

There was an ominous rumble. After a second, Glorfindel realized that it was Namo's laughter.

"He tried. But the twin sons of Elrond did not let him. They thought it would be hilarious. Those two are quite the masters of persuasion."

"If I ever get my hands on them…" Glorfindel muttered, curling his hands into fists.

"You would do well to remember that they are your lord Turgon's descendants."

"But still…does the impostor even resemble me?"

"Oh, yes! They wouldn't call any dark-headed Noldo Glorfindel, after all. He is very close to you in looks. Come, I can show you. Look here." He gestured to a large glass on the wall. Glorfindel glanced at it and saw himself.

"What does this mean?" he asked but the lord of Mandos was no longer there. The whole room had gotten very dark without him noticing. There was a sliver of light in the distance that was steadily growing closer and closer and—

Lord Glorfindel formerly of the House of the Golden Flower and now of RIvendell woke up in his room in Imladris feeling incredibly confused.

"Elrond!"

The lord of Imladris looked up from his book to see a very disheveled Glorfindel running down the stairs.

"Elrond! Tell me! Tell me, am I really the lord of the Golden Flower who died fighting a Balrog, or is this all an elaborate trick played by your sons?"


	2. In which Maedhros is completely insane

Its a very pretty out in the woods, Maedhros thinks, almost as pretty as home. But where is home? Is home where mother is? Where is Mother…who is Mother…?

Findekano…

No that's wrong, Findekano is his friend, his cousin, his…what is Findekano to him? Who is Findekano…no! He cannot forget him! Not Findekano! He must try and remember him! He must try…

Someone is calling him

Maitimo! Maitimo!

Is Maitimo his name? He cannot remember…he is Maedhros now.

Maitimo! Russandol!

Maedhros jerks. That's what Findekano called him…Findekano? is that you?

No…Findekano is gone, Findekano is gone and dead and free. He is so jealous and he knows he shouldn't be but how could he how could Findekano leave him behind in this world that he does not understand?

There is a hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off. It comes back and shakes him insistently. Maedhros looks up to see dark hair and his heart leaps and then he looks higher and feels hollow and empty. its not him…

Brother we need you back at camp….brother…Maitimo!

Go away…go away curufin…he does not want his little brothers to see…to see what? he does not know….

Maitimo!

And he looks at his little brother and sees his father's face there but it is not his father because his father left them long ago.

There is a hopeless expression on his brothers (his fathers?) face now.

Maitimo please… we need you

Who needs him? Findekano needed him but FIndekano is gone..gone GONE!

his little brothers need him. he remembers that now. his little brothers… only curufin could walk unaided at the moment…caranthir and maglor had yet to wake…his brothers…

The sky is blue, very blue. it's the same color as Findekano's banner. No don't think of his banner…

His brothers need him. He will help them because he can help them and because he could not help Findekano (oh he's sorry, he is so sorry) and maybe he will die on the way back to camp but thats just wishful thinking. Then he will go and try to fix all that is left of his people.

he wonders how he should go about fixing things when he himself is completely broken.

**AN: yikes...that one came out rather dark. It's Maedhros after the Nirnaeth, if you were wondering. **


	3. 30 Days of Headcanon: Day 15

"I missed you," he says simply. She does not know how to answer. He is still young at heart, having been reborn only a couple turns of the sun before. 'I missed you, Irisse," He says again, frowning at an elusive memory. "I didn't come in time to help you…I missed you and you died. I'm sorry,"

Now he is staring at her with familiar eyes, looking exactly as he did in times before, times half-forgotten, and Aredhel feels her heart melt. Instead of answering his question, she laughs and leaps at him, pushing him onto the grass.

'Hey! Not fair! You shouldn't push people when they are trying to apologize!" He sounds so indignant that Aredhel laughs again and plops down on the grass beside him.

"You don't need to apologize for that…"

"Then what should I apologize for?" he asks with the frankness of the elfling that she supposes he is.

"When you find out, tell me. For now, how about I race you to the waterfall in that glade over there?"

He leaps up, eyes shining, ready to sprint away. "Hold on! Don't you need to tell your brothers where you are going?" she reprimands.

With a pout, he turns and bounds towards the small cottage where they had left the twins. They were younger than him once. She wonders what it feels like for them to suddenly be the elder brothers.

He is back quickly. He stops to catch a breath and gazes at her. For a moment, there is something in his eyes that sends shivers down her spine, but it is gone the next second.

"Can we go now?" he whines, sounding every bit like Arakáno as a child, not that she would tell either of them that!

"Yes, yes! Go!" she replies, making a shooing motion.

He is instantly moving, letting out a whoop. She watches his retreating figure with a smile. There are still things she has not forgiven him, the cruelty of the Ice, the indifference towards her people, but those grudges lie with an older and more cunning Celegorm. For now, he is just Tyelko, and he is her best friend.

She gives herself a small shake. At this rate, he is actually going to beat her to the waterfall! Letting out a whoop of her own, Aredhel leaps into the wood.

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**AN: For the prompt: Something that makes you impossibly happy to think about.**


	4. Dreams

1. Elwing was woken by thin wails coming from the neighboring room. She hastily rose, wrapping a robe around herself, and made her way to her sons' chamber. It was Elrond crying, head buried in his pillow, with his brother kneeling anxiously over him.

"I don't know what's wrong, Nana," Elros whispered as she neared them. "He woke up and started crying and he won't calm down!" Now his eyes were watering too.

Elwing suppressed a sigh and scooper Elrond into her arms.

"What's wrong, my star? Did you have a bad dream?"

Elrond nodded tearfully, clutching at her.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

Instead of answering, her son looked up at her with huge eyes and asked, "Nana, you won't ever leave us, right?"

"Of course I won't. I love you more than anything, my children."

"More than the Silmaril?"

Elwing felt her heat skip a beat, but she kept the same easy smile on her face. "Yes, Elrond, more than the Silmaril."

2. "It's cold out here, brother. Maglor won't be pleased if you catch a cold."

"I don't catch colds…only you do that. I couldn't sleep, so I came out here."

Elros frowned, "Bad dreams again?"

His brother nodded.

" I dreamed that I was alone…that you had left me behind."

Elros' laugh sounded forced even to him. "Don't be ridiculous, twin. We are two halves of a whole. We are destined to be together!"

3. 'Elrond! Elrond, wake up!"

"H-huh?" He peeled his eyes open to see Gil-Galad staring at him with an amused expression.

"You are going to be late for my council, Elrond."

"Uhhhh….but I was having such a beautiful dream!"

Gil-Galad chuckled, "I could tell! You were smiling like a love-sick puppy."

Elrond blushed and made to get up, the twinkling dark blue eyes and shining silver hair lingering in his memory.

4. "Elrond, you have to come out of there at some point," Glorfindel remarked casually, rapping on the door of Imladris' lord.

"…No I dont," came the reluctant reply. "One of the upsides of being Lord around here…"

Glorfindel rolled his eyes, but the comment relieved him. It was more than he had heard from behind the door in three days. He rapped a little more insistently.

The door creaked open, revealing one red rimmed grey eye. Glorfindel wasted no time in pushing it open and enveloping his lord in a hug.

After a moment of silence, he asked, "So what brought this on? It's not like you to abandon responsibility like this…"

Elrond sighed, "I had a dream."

"A dream?" Glorfindel repeated, suddenly worried. "What about?"

The dark haired elf took a deep shuddering breath. "Arwen is going to leave us. She will choose the Doom of Men."

Glorfindel's breath caught in his throat. When he was able to speak again, he whispered, "And there is no chance that this was just a dream?"

Elrond shook his head sadly. "I have never had 'just a dream'."

**AN: prompt was: Something about dreams or nightmares. The result was Elrond angst. Lovely, right?**


	5. To fear the dark

**Something about fear: **

Cuivienen was dark, but dark in a soft way, in a comforting way. There was no need to fear the shadows. Besides, as long as the stars shone overhead, there could be no true darkness.

Then, his family started disappearing. His brother went first, walking into the deeper part of the forest and never returning. His mother was lost to the shadows not long after, and his father refused to move onwards after that. He was alone.

He began to see shapes looming where he could not clearly distinguish them, and even the light of the stars seemed to dim in comparison to the overwhelming blackness behind them.

When he saw the Trees, he knew that he had found a place away from the shadows. He needed to convince his people. They needed to come to this land where it was never dark. Only there would they truly be safe from the lurkers in the darkness.

His first wife was silver, glowing with the same light as the stars. Their love was bright and warm and he was content. She never laughed at him when he lit candles in rooms without windows; she knew how he felt about the absence of light.

It did not stop her from giving all of herself to their son, leaving her an empty lifeless, dark shell.

He clung to the child then. His son was a bonfire, true to his name. It was always blindingly bright in his presence. But the boy, and later the adult who grew from the boy could never understand his father's fear. How could he understand, when he himself produced enough light to chase away all shadows?

His second wife was golden. She shone with a different light, a stronger light. Their children were golden as well, even those who took after him in looks.

None burned as bright as his first son, though. So he held him closest to heart, and hoped that it would keep the dark away.

It was sad really, that he had followed the brightest light in his life, only to die in the darkness. Morgoth was approaching for his final blow, the Unlight billowing around him.

"it's dark…so dark….help me….do not let me….die…in the dark….i am afraid…."

His grandsons crowding around him, torches in their hands…reaching towards the feeble flames only to find that he cannot see them anymore. He feels the life ebbing out of him.

"Dark..so dark…took the..light away….the Silmarils…the light is gone…my son…"

The cries of his grandsons are getting softer and softer as a light appears in the distance.

And Finwe follows it.


	6. 30 Days of Headcanon: Day 12

**Something about sleeping habits...**

It happened every time. They would get into bed, Pityo on the right and Telvo on the left. Their parents, or one of their older brothers would come and tuck them into bed and give them each a good night kiss. The twins would wait for the door to close before rolling together into a tangle of limbs.

Sometimes there was something important to discuss between them, sometimes there wasn't. Then they would just lie there, feeling complete and happy.

"Good night, Ambarussa,"

"You too, Ambarussa,"

They would fall asleep at exactly the same time, too, with identical smiles, dreaming the same dream.

And every morning…

"What is…ow! Ambarussa! Get your foot out of my face! Ow! No, not that foot!"

"Your elbow is digging into my side, Ambarussa! And how did you even get to my side of the bed?"

"How should I know? I was asleep!"

"Well so was I! "

"You're on my side of the bed, you know."

"You don't have a side."

A couple of shoves and exclamations later, they would both be on the floor, rubbing equally bruised elbows.

It happened every time


	7. 30 Days of Headcanon: Day 9

Daeron leaned against the trunk of the ancient tree and looked up into its branches. Lúthien's prison-her dwelling, he corrected himself angrily, not her prison- was nestled snugly in the branches. He could just barely make her out, leaning out of the window. She looked North, as if she could catch a glimpse of that Man of hers. Well, it was no use: he was gone. And she could not follow. Daeron had never felt as guilty as he did now, for robbing her of her freedom and of her happiness. It was the least he could do now, to comply to her demands.

"Lúthien!" he called, and waited tremulously for an answer. She had let him, and him only, scale the tree and join her in her solitude. There were no guarantees that she would do so again.

"Daeron! Is that you, dear friend?" she sang back, and again Daeron nearly wept from guilt. Only his Lúthien would be so kind to one who betrayed her as he had.

"Yes Lúthien, it is I. I have brought you what you asked for.'

"Well, come up then!"

Taking the small loom securely under his arm, Daeron clambered onto a wide branch. He sang quietly, and the tree lifted him to Lúthien's window. He climbed in, and placed his burden down.

Lúthien turned from where she stood to inspect the loom. After a moment of running her fingers over it, she gave a small nod of satisfaction.

"It's perfect, Daeron, thank you." Without hesitating, she flung her arms about him like she used to when they were both children.

"Anything for you," Daeron whispered.

Lúthien broke away and leaned out of her window again. After a moment, she suddenly smiled in recollection. "There is a tale told by Beren's people about a princess who is locked in a tower and her prince has to climb her hair in order to rescue her. It sounded painful though…I am glad you are capable of getting up here without my hair."

"I am no prince either," Daeron added, staring at the ground.

Lúthien looked at him piercingly. "Daeron, you have always been my best friend, since the day I met you. I hold you blameless in this, for I know that your deeds were done out of love. I only regret not noticing and dissuading your love earlier. For you are dear to me, but as a friend, not a lover."

"I know that, Lúthien, I know. You will not tell me what you plan with this loom?"

"Perhaps I will, but not yet. You have already helped me much with your past teachings."

"I am glad to have been of use, princess."

"I have told you countless times not to call me that, my Daeron. Now, I need to be alone, please."

"As you wish, Lúthien." And he was gone, dark braid flying behind him

Some weeks later, Daeron looked up into the empty tree house. Lúthien had not waited for her prince to come. She had taken matters into her own hands and now Daeron would likely never see her again.

With a wail of anguish, he disappeared into the trees and was never seen again, though his lament for his beloved friend echoed through Doriath for many years to come.

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**A/N= Written for Something about your BroTP. **


	8. AU Turin's Nargothrond

**Challenge: Something about your least favorite moment:**

**I was not a particularly happy camper throughout the entire Turin Turambar chapter, but everything that happened in Nargothrond made me bang my head against the wall.**

**So here is an AU fic-chain about things Turin could have handled better.**

* * *

1. Finduilas sped forward with a cry, halting before Gwindor and looking at him with tear filled eyes.

"This one I know. This is Gwindor, who once I loved, but believed to be dead. But he is returned to us!" She threw her arms around his neck for a brief moment before turning to look at the dark Man who stood behind her once-beloved.

"But who are you, lord?"

Gwindor started to answer, but the Man held up an arm to stop him.

"I am Turin, son of Morwen, and I speak for myself."

2. The elven smith examined Gurthang closely, frowning at his discoveries.

"Lord Adanedhel, your sword...it is dull and blunt, but we can reforge it for you. It will be a mighty blade!"

Turin looked at the sword and shook his head.

"No, thank you, but this sword is cursed. I will be better off with a different blade in my hand."

3. As he wandered through the halls of Nargothrond, Turin perceived another's presence. Raising his eyes, he met the gaze of Finduilas. What he found there shocked and saddened him.

"Lady, you are more beautiful than any maiden that I have ever seen, and most kind and wise, but I beg of you, do not seek love from me! It will only end in tears for us both, for while I respect you, I do not love you."

FInduilas gave a soft sigh, "It is not by my will that my heart has been turned, but I thank you for being truthful with me." And she was grieved for a time, but with Gwindor's love and care she blossomed once more into her past glory.

4. "Gwindor told me who you truly are, Turin son of Hurin."

"I should thank him. I should not hide from my name, for that will not keep me from my fate."

5. Orodreth sipped his wine thoughtfully.

"For many turns of the sun we have survived through stealth and secrecy. But if you consider it wise, we will change our tactics."

Turin shook his head.

"Your secrecy has kept you safe for many times as long as I have been alive. I do not consider myself experienced enough to advise you on this matter. Gwindor has had many dealing with the works of Morgoth. Perhaps you should ask his counsel."

6. When Gelmir and Arminas came with their tidings, Turin had little to say about it.

"If the Lord of the Waters sees fit to correct our work, we should listen! It is not every day one is contacted by a Vala."

The bridge was torn down the following day.

7. The dragon was massive, far too massive to assault alone. Turin rushed at him anyway, but as the lizard opened its large, captivating eyes, Turin looked away. He had heard of the bewitching gaze of the dragons. The dragon spoke to him, but Turin refused to listen, focusing instead on the approaching party of Orcs and their captives.

Disregarding the dragon, he leapt at the Orcs, hacking and hawing his way through them to the very center where FInduilas was being held. With two swings of his sword, her bonds fell away. her hand in his, they fled the ruins of Nargothrond, heading to Doriath with all speed as the dragon roared his fury behind them.


	9. 30 Days of Headcanon: Day 26

He cries when he realizes that he does not remember who his father is. He feels like he knew once, but now? Now, he is simply Ereinion, son of kings. No one thought to tell him exactly which king he was the son of.

His hair does not tell him anything. It's not the revealing golden tone of Finarfin's house, nor is it the deep black of Fingolfin's. It is an unassuming brown. He gets it from his mother.

His mother knew, but she is gone and he cannot ask her. He does not want Círdan to know of his forgetfulness so he cannot ask him either.

So he asks others. The maid who is cleaning his room gives him one answer and the head cook gives another. Ereinion realizes that it is not only he who has forgotten. Everyone remembers him as son of the king. The Noldor have had many kings.

Tyelpe (Cirdan frowns when Ereinion calls his kinsman that, but Celembrimbor is an incredibly cumbersome name) gets an unreadable look in his eye when Ereinion works up the courage to ask him. He gives an elusive answer about how Ereinion should try to find out on his own. Ereinion suspects that Tyelpe has also forgotten.

He comforts himself with the thought that he already has two names. Having more would be annoying. And, he reasons, he is the son of Kings, and having Kings as fathers cannot be too bad. The thought does not help much with the empty feeling in his chest. In his head, he starts calls himself U-istonion* and grins at the idiocy of it.

It does not matter, in the end. He is known as Gil-Galad and no-one questions the lack of patronymics. He accidentally signs one letter to Elrond with U-istonion once, but his herald does not comment.

* * *

**A/N: Poor Ereinion! He has too many fathers. Written for the prompt: Something about parents.**

**U-istonion- **A feeble translation of Son of I-don't-know


	10. Day 25: Childhood

"Your cousin is coming to stay with us for a few days."

Little Miriel looked up from her doll and scrunched up her nose. "Aw, does he have to? He's creepy, Ada!"

Tar-Palantir, current king of Numenor, sighed. "Be nice. He just wants to play with you."

"Well I don't want to play with him! He always makes me be something stupid while he gets to be the hero," Miriel stuck her nose into the air defiantly. Her father had to bite his cheek very hard in order to keep his stern expression on his face.

"He is still your cousin, dear. Cousins should get along."

Miriel turned an indignant expression on him. "But you and uncle Gim'khad don't get along, and you're brothers!"

Palantir blinked at his daughter, caught off guard. He did not think that she had noticed his animosity towards his brother. He needed to say something; she was looking too triumphant.

"…that's different," he finally said, rather lamely. His daughter summoned her most innocent expression

"Ada, can Ru'nis take my place in playing with my cousin?"

"Ruinis is made of cloth and beads, Miriel. I don't think your cousin will appreciate her very much."

"Then he is a fool," Miriel announced, in perfect imitation of one of Palantir's more irritating councilors. "Can you be the stall? Ru'nis and Glinien are going to the market."

Palantir gave up and chuckled, sitting down next to his daughter on the floor as she once again busied herself with her dolls.

"You still have to spend time with him," he told Miriel as her dolls danced up his arms to inspect the "goods" located on his shoulders that consisted of two pieces of string and a spoon.

"But Ada..!"

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**A/N: I am completely out of my depth with Númenoreans/Adûnaim so this was difficult to write. Written for Something about childhood.**


	11. Day 28: Before the story begins

The two boys lay on the grass, their silver hair mingling. The sounds of their playmates' laughter floated over from a nearby hill, but neither felt ready to join in the games that were doubtlessly being played.

"Look at the stars, Olwë!" one whispered.

"I am looking, brother," came the reply

"They are so bright and beautiful…I wonder if I could hold one in my hand. It would be like my own little light."

'You don't need a star for that! There are plenty of fireflies around right now. You could catch one of them to be your light. It would be easier."

The older brother propped himself up on his elbows.

"It wouldn't be right, to hold the firefly captive just so I can have light. "

The other boy looked at him questioningly, "But the stars are alive, too! They sing, just like we do. They are singing especially loud tonight."

'They are…"

There was a long pause.

The elder spoke up again, thoughtfully. "I would like to be a star…"

A third voice called, "You are already named for them, and you have them in your hair, what more do you want?" The two brothers turned to see another boy standing on top of the hill, brown plaits streaming behind him.

"Stop making vague comments and come play Stones with us! We need two more players. "

"Coming, Lenwë!" the younger brother shouted back. "Come on, Elwë! The stars will still be there when we are done with our game."

Elwë reluctantly turned his face away from the light and followed Olwë up the hill. Halfway up, he poked his brother's shoulder.

"Say, can I borrow your stones?"

"Yes, of course, but where did your own set go?"

"…I lost them to Míriel last time I played with her. She is too devious for her own good."

"Well…don't you go and lose my set, too!"

"You can always go and find more!"

"No! Mine are special! Look at how well polished this one is!"

Elwë rolled his eyes. "Alright, little brother, but I am still borrowing them."

"Hey! Why don't you find yourself more?"

"Because you have been too busy polishing your set to help me!"

Still talking, they crested the hill and joined their playmates in their circle.

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**A/N: Written for Prompt: Something about the time before the story begins**


	12. Day 22: Favourite place

It was said that Menegroth was the fairest dwelling East of the Sea, and I suppose that it is, if one likes caverns and carvings. But those who say that always forget that a dwelling does not need to have walls or pillars. They do not consider that for many of us, home, our own dwelling, is the forest. Our carpets are the spring grasses and our walls are the tall pines. And who needs a roof over one's head when we have all of the stars of Elbereth twinkling above us?

There is much to be found in the woods. In Region and Neldoreth, where those of the Tatyar who chose to move on had lingered, we find odd trinkets, left behind. Sometimes they are simply carved bones or oddly fashioned pieces of wood. I find some embroidery once. It is lovely and I pick it up and carry it to Menegroth when we next go there. They will keep it safe. We do not need ornaments, but we know a beautiful thing when we see it.

The woods are vast and tranquil, and for those who do not know them, perilous. It is easy to get lost, but we have learned to ask the trees for direction. Once their interest is caught, they are perfect sources of information. I particularly like to speak with one young oak. It has much to say about where the ripest berries are growing and whether or not the brambles have grown on the forest path. I, in turn, tell it of other oaks just like it growing on the other side of the forest and bring it their greetings. Sometimes I want to be a tree, but then I remember that they cannot dance and I decide against it.

For dancing is the most wonderful of all things. Under the stars we are one with their light and with the earth below us and we dance, oh! how we dance! I would not give up dancing for anything.

When I stay too long dancing under the stars, my mother calls me a starstruck deer and laughs when I tell her I am too old for her teasing.

"Go on and dance!" she tells me, shooing me away.

And I do

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**A/N: Written for Day 22. Something about your favourite place.**

**I will one day develop this OC into someone with a name.**


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